An Oath Reforged
by Crisis Project
Summary: A character study of Cullen Rutherford from when he steps off the ship on the docks of Kirkwall to departing the ravaged city a year after the Chantry was destroyed.


**Note:** hey everyone! I'm back! With a new fic, to boot. I promise I haven't forgotten about Worst Aid! It's just been... on the back burner for way too long. But I swear I'll return to Eve because I love her so much 3

While I was writing Worst Aid, it occurred to me that I couldn't realistically see how Cullen goes from DA2 rabies-froth-at-the-mouth-when-someone-mentions-mages to DAI i-love-you-despite-you-being-an-apostate. This is an exploration of how he changes and grows during his time in Kirkwall.

Speaking of Kirkwall, we all know that a lot of bad shit went down in the city, particularly the Gallows. There will be mentions of rape and torture, but will not be described in detail. However, if that troubles you then no hard feelings.

 **Warnings for this chapter:** none.

* * *

 **1: The Oath of the Flaming Sword**

Kirkwall seemed to slide out of the greys and blues shrouding the horizon of the Waking Sea, cradling the murky waters in its glimmering port and backed by the Vimmark mountain range. Cullen was no expert in naval warfare, but from his recent reading he could tell that the city-state had formidable defenses. He tried not to gawk at the enormous chains that stretched from the port mouth to the fortress island outposts, hanging ominously over the ship as they glided underneath. Each link was almost as large as a sail and must have been magically fashioned with a boatful of metal poured into each link. Surely that gold could have gone to better causes, but who was he to argue with dead Tevinter magisters? Even more costly were the two identical brass statues hung on each side of the port mouth; instead of guarding the city, each weathered behemoth hid their face in their hands, their necks weighed down by a collar and chains.

Supposedly, the Twins and the city itself had been constructed by ancient Tevinters, a major hub in the bloodthirsty nation's slave trade. As the ship slid closer, the details of the statues sharpened through the briney mist. The Tevinter craftsmen had been skilled; though the Twins' faces were hidden, their bodies curling inward as if to shield themselves, their foreheads were furled in sorrow, tendons pulled taut in agony under their skin. He could almost see them flinching back, hiding behind their hands as they screamed and begged him to _stop_ -

A spray of salty water slapped him in the face and snapped Cullen out of his thoughts. Shaking, he swiped the water out of his eyes and his beard, sucked in a deep breath and eased out of the defense stance he had fallen into. Gripping the railing until his knuckles ached, he glared at the Twins as the ship slowly sailed between them into the noisy port. He wasn't here to spiral again; he was here to start over.

Focusing on the Twins' slave collars instead, Cullen made himself recall every detail of the city's history from the book he'd brought with him from Greenfell. The story goes that the slaves in ancient Tevinter had been slaughtered en masse in Kirkwall for many years until one day, the slaves had revolted. Those crushed under magic for so long had gathered, disciplined themselves, formed militias and killed their magister overlords until magical and mundane blood had mingled in the burning streets. The people had freed themselves of corruptive political power and the curse of magic, and reclaimed their home until it became the independent city state it was today.

Knight-Commander Meredith's invitation to transfer to the Kirkwall Circle was tucked into Cullen's waist-pouch, but he could see the city's heraldry embossed across the top of the parchment clearly in his mind. A stylized dragon set against a dark background, symbolizing the spirit of the slave rebellion centuries ago. _Supposedly_. Cullen saw a sword instead, winged in Andraste's cleansing flames. From what Knight-Commander Meredith had detailed in her letters, this city and Circle was in sore need of it. There was worthy work to be done here instead of wasting away in Greenfell surrounded by broken mirrors and whispers of the dead. Greagoir was an old fool to bend the rules, to allow mages to run amok without enough supervision or walk the Fade longer than the time allotted to them. It was only a matter of time until each mage would become a door for a demon and repeat the massacre that had stained the halls of Kinloch Tower during the Fifth Blight.

As the ship sailed between the Twins into the port proper, Cullen promised himself that this would not be like the Tower. Or Greenfell. He would pledge himself to Knight-Commander Meredith and be a cleansing sword in this city. Kirkwall was a fresh start.

* * *

 **Note:** Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you have a few seconds - they're writer fuel!


End file.
